


The Snowflake Pin

by MariahLacey42



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Can be read as preslash or platonic, F/M, Female Pronouns for Reader, Gen, It's less of a reader insert and more of an OC, Oneshot, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Snow, Vignette, but idk, goddess of winter - Freeform, messenger Aone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariahLacey42/pseuds/MariahLacey42
Summary: The goddess of winter doesn’t get many visitors. Something about her small cabin with its flickering blue flame in the hearth doesn’t attract frequent company. Only one person comes to see her with any regularity. The white-haired messenger god who brings words from her closest friends continually makes the long cold trek to her cabin, no matter how out of the way it is.
Relationships: Aone Takanobu & Reader, Aone Takanobu/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	The Snowflake Pin

**Author's Note:**

> This is really short and self-indulgent, but it's all I've felt inspired to write lately
> 
> Thanks again to the folks in the GWS server for getting me on this Aone kick
> 
> This really is less of a story about a relationship and more of a vignette about the setting and atmosphere, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.

The goddess of winter doesn’t get many visitors. Something about her small cabin with its flickering blue flame in the hearth doesn’t attract frequent company. That, and the fact that the winter realm is so far from everyone else. Not that all the other heavenly creatures live together, but while there are other pockets of gods living together, she always seems to be set apart, a bubble creeping with frost aside from the rest of them. Because of this, it is usually her traveling away from her snowy hideaway for tea with the goddess of spring or slipping down to earth to check on the humans she sees so fondly. 

Others may stop by occasionally, but they always prefer to meet in the bright sun of Olympus or the cozy parlor of a human pub. Only one person comes to see her with any regularity. The white-haired messenger god who brings words from her closest friends continually makes the long cold trek to her cabin, no matter how out of the way it is. He reads the sender of the letter in his voice that is so much softer than his stature would suggest, picks up anything the smaller goddess has to send out, and goes on his way, his back disappearing into the snowstorm that regularly swirls around the chilly log hideaway. 

For many of these visits now, the wintress has wanted to offer him something for continually coming to see her. It feels unfair to him to keep requiring him to hike through the snowdrop fields just so she can correspond with friends. A few times she’s even opened her mouth to offer hot chocolate or a quick reprieve from the wintry weather, but some whisper of doubt tugs it shut again. She remembers that her cabin is cold and unwelcoming. She would just be keeping him from his eternal rounds through the heavens. Nobody, least of all him, would want to spend time in the forever cold place that she calls home. 

But she figures that she can at least offer him a gift, something he could carry away from her frozen land on his travels, or at least something he could sell so that he gets something for his trips to see her. With that freezing-warm thought stored in her heart, she works steadily to craft a small snowflake pin, weaving her transparent flakes together into something concrete, something just as delicate as her usual craft, but somehow sturdier, with a core of strength inside it that reflects what she admires in the recipient. She holds it in her hand, feeling the slight cold sting from the tempered metal, created out of frozen water and a few whispered breaths. She closes her eyes in peace, and the flurries around her head slow in their whirring just a bit. 

The next time she hears a sturdy knock on her door, she knows it is him without a doubt. Nobody else would show up without sending a letter. At the prospect of facing the stern messenger, she scrambles to grab her small gift and checks to ensure her persistent snow flurries aren’t giving away her racing heart. When she finally peeks out past the threshold, he looks the same as he always does, soft, half-melted snowflakes hiding in his frost-colored hair and a worn leather bag that holds more than seems possible resting comfortably at his hip. After a quick exchange that holds no more words than necessary and a carefully given letter from her dear friend Dionysus, she gathers her scattered courage from the chilled air to say something just as he turns around. 

“Aone, I--” His strong brow furrows just a bit, the small twitch the only indicator that he is surprised by the outburst. “I made you this, as a thank you for coming all the way out here so often.” She holds out the delicate pin in her shaking hands and he picks it up with all the delicacy of a master craftsman, something unreadable shimmering in his eyes, “I know it must be trouble to trek through the snow so often. So thank you.” 

The ghost of a smile appears on the tall messenger’s face. “It is never trouble if it’s for you” 

He places the glimmering gift over his heart on the front of his sturdy vest, gives a simple nod, then turns to walk away, removing all the strangeness she felt from the situation and replacing it with a welcome familiarity that he always seems to bring. 

The Goddess of winter watches until his back is obscured by the snow, both by the falling flakes outside her door and by the tiny flurries around her head that are swirling quickly and densely around her reddened cheeks. As the messenger continues his journey, small crystals of frost find their way onto his new pin. They may melt when he goes to his next destination, but they return every time he makes a route to the isolated cabin and the lonesome goddess who inhabits it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought of this!
> 
> Mystical feeling writing is my favorite style to write, so I consistently enjoyed creating this. I hope you can find some amount of that enjoyment from reading it as well.
> 
> Have a great day!


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